


Soften the Night

by rose_indigo_and_tom



Category: You Could Make a Life Series - Taylor Fitzpatrick
Genre: Character Study, Coffeeshop AU, M/M, Sort of? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_indigo_and_tom/pseuds/rose_indigo_and_tom
Summary: Someone, probably someone sadistic and evil, had the idea that Westmount needed a late-night coffeeshop. Someone, aka Capitalism, had the idea that Vinny needed a job, and working nights meant he always got to sleep in.It’s weird, the people you see in a coffeeshop at 9pm. Guys in scrubs coming in to get a 30oz black coffee, guys in suits getting eight shots of espresso, girls in mini-skirts ordering “grande caramel macchiatos,” and that one weird guy who always ordered a 60z cup of cold milk.
Relationships: Anton Petrov/Thomas "Vinny" Vincent
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Soften the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlebasketbun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebasketbun/gifts).



Someone, probably someone sadistic and evil, had the idea that Westmount needed a late-night coffeeshop. Someone, aka Capitalism, had the idea that Vinny needed a job, and working nights meant he always got to sleep in.

It’s weird, the people you see in a coffeeshop at 9pm. Guys in scrubs coming in to get a 30oz black coffee, guys in suits getting eight shots of espresso, girls in mini-skirts ordering “grande caramel macchiatos,” and that one weird guy who always ordered a 60z cup of cold milk. It’s weird, people who want coffee at night want weird things, but it’s also totally fun. Thomas loves all his regulars, loves joking with them and having their coffee order ready by the time they get to the register. 

After working at the shop for six months, it’s rare someone comes in he’s never seen before. Most everyone is regulars, it’s not near any clubs or bars that tend to draw in newcomers very often. So it’s striking when The Guy comes in. He shows up for the first time in late summer, cutoff jeans firmly in “gay-or-European territory,” blonde hair, bitchy expression. He tries to order a venti ice coffee, which obviously pisses Thomas off. It’s not fucking Starbucks. If The Guy wanted Starbucks, he should’ve gone to Starbucks. There’s one not that far away, and it’s early enough yet that they’re probably still open. 

But he makes the coffee, because after six months he knows that venti means large, and he doesn't feel like arguing. There will be better fights to pick tonight. The Guy’s eyes widen a little at the price, barely perceptibly, but again, if he wanted Starbucks prices, he should’ve gone there. Starbucks doesn’t roast their coffee in Laval, or buy directly from small farmers in South America.

He doesn’t expect to ever see The Guy again. Their interaction had been pretty cursory, barely memorable, really, but for some reason it does stick in his head. And The Guy does come back, a few weeks later.

There’s a chill in the air this time, and it’s been rainy out all day. The Guy isn’t carrying an umbrella, like maybe he’s too much of a man to be dry. 

“Bonjour Hi!” chirps Vinny, hoping that through the sheer sunniness of his disposition he can will The Guy out of his bitchiness.

“Hello,” The Guy ventures, maybe a little put off by Thomas’ enthusiasm. That can happen sometimes. 

“What can I get for you today?”

“Large ice coffee.”

And so it goes. The Guy starts coming in more regularly, once every couple of days, always towards the end of the night, always ordering ice coffee, until it is well and truly too cold for it. Even for Vinny, who’s from Sudbury and used to the cold, thank you very much.

The day The Guy asks for something other than an ice coffee (thank goodness he’s learned to stop saying “venti”) is a momentous occasion.

“Large black coffee, hot.”

It’s Thomas’ opening! His opportunity to get The Guy to say something other than hello, thank you, or his order. He launches into his spiel about blends versus single origins, washed versus natural process, light versus dark roasts, going into the four different types of coffee they have on offer that night. 

After seeing The Guy once or twice a week for two months, he’s becoming rather curious about him. It’s not at all obvious why he comes in, like it is for the doctors and nurses. He’s never there with anyone else, never brings any work to do, and never really comes on the same night every week. 

Unfortunately for Vinny, the guy just grunts out “Dark roast, your, uhh, house blend.” 

“That’ll be $2.16.” Vinny chirps, persistent. “How’s your night going? Chilly out there tonight, huh?”

“I’m Russian,” The Guy says. “It’s not cold out there!”The Guy is not wearing a coat, Thomas notes, just a suit jacket. 

“At least you’re wearing a jacket, though,” Thomas says.

“Hazards of the profession.” The Guy says curtly. “Goodnight.”

Progress! The Guy is Russian! And has some sort of profession that requires suit-wearing. To be fair, that could be so many different things, but it’s more the fact that The Guy volunteered personal information. 

And so it goes on like that. The Guy comes in intermittently, Thomas serves him coffee. The Guy never wants to try something new, Thomas always suggests more interesting things than a plain black coffee. Thomas learns his name is Tony after he comes in on a a weirdly busy night, and has to take down names for cups. The Guy, Tony, presumably knows Thomas’ name, because he has to wear a nametag at work. Not that he’s ever used it. 

And so it goes on.

———

Anton comes into the coffeeshop over the summer because he was on his way to meet the team at some bar, and needed help rallying before the night out. He tells himself he keeps going back because it’s convenient to a lot of different bars, and not that far from where he lives, really. But part of it is honestly that the barista is cute and friendly and Anton kind of wants to keep seeing him.

It’s dumb. He doesn’t even know the guy, and they barely exchange more than the necessary pleasantries. But he’s just so _happy_ , every time Anton comes in. Once the season starts, Anton starts going in after games, grabs a cup of coffee to help him settle his nerves. It continues like that, light and frivolous and easy. 

Then Anton sprains his ankle and is out 6 to 8 weeks. He isn’t going to the coffeeshop after the game, because he’s with the doctors, and then getting carted home by Denisovich, and then FaceTiming his parents because his mama is worried. And then he’s on crutches and isn’t going much of anywhere that isn’t necessary. 

When walking is easy again, he goes back to the coffeeshop. Thomas is there, as always. His eyes widen as soon as Anton walks through the door. 

“Tony! I haven’t seen you in so long! What happened!?” Thomas actually looks worried, and clearly remembers his name, which Anton hadn’t really expected. The guy must help hundreds of customers every day, why should he remember one?

“Yeah, I got hurt,” Anton says. Gestures at his ankle, which is still wrapped up. 

“What happened?”

“Derek Carruthers,” Anton hedges. He’s not sure whether Thomas will make the connection, or if he even wants him to, but he’s not exactly in the business of lying to people about what his job is either.

“Like, the Sens player?” Thomas says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, there was a bit of a thing a few weeks ago, but it’s all fine now.” 

Thomas gives him a funny little half-smile. “So you’re either definitely Anton Petrov from the Habs, or else Derek Carruthers is driving up to Montreal to accost innocent civilians,” he cracks. 

“Carruthers may be many things, but as far as I know, he’s not a criminal.” Anton keeps his tone light, tries not to think about what it means that Thomas has put part of this together already. Hopes things don’t get awkward now that they’re Talking About It. 

Thomas is cool about it. Doesn’t make any comments about his father, or last years playoff run, or anything else like that. Just laughs and takes his order. He looks good when he’s laughing, Anton thinks, and then pushes away.

He keeps coming in. Keeps staying later and later past the moment when his coffee is ready, just chatting with Thomas. Thomas, who played hockey at university and was born in Sudbury and loves Disney movies. 

The funny thing about making friends with your barista is that it’s like moving at honey speed. You get a few minutes each time, maybe ten if you’re lucky. The counter is like the Iron Curtain between you, always there, interminable. No matter how much you chat, how much money or time you spend, at the end of the day the relationship is transactional. It would be wrong of Tony to assume that Thomas thinks anything of him other than “Habs regular who tips well.” That Thomas thinks of him at all. The Habs have had workshops on sexual harassment, he knows about power dynamics and leaving people alone when they’re at work. Still. None of it stops him from lying in bed at night and wondering about Thomas’ life. Wondering what subject he did at university, how long he’s been working at the shop, what else he wants to do with his life. Whether he has a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a child. Whether he thinks about Anton.

———

The funny thing about being a barista, particularly a nighttime barista, is that it’s a lot of spare time. Even on busy nights, there’s long minutes spent sweeping, washing dishes, cleaning machinery. You’ve got to find ways to keep your mind occupied. You get to having sweet spots for all your favorite regulars, regardless of whether they tip or not. You get to being excited when you finally remember someone’s name _and_ drink order. You get to wondering what people’s lives are like when they’re not saying “medium black coffee.” And while it’s true that you don’t want customers coming on to you at work, that doesn’t mean you don’t notice which ones are attractive, which ones are kind, which ones you wouldn’t mind seeing after you get off. 

All this to say, _of course_ Thomas thinks about Tony. He’s handsome and respectful and, once you get him to talk, quietly kind and funny. He’s also a customer, and Thomas is literally paid to serve him, and has no interest in jeopardizing Tony’s patronage or his own employment, so he keeps joking with him in spare moments, keeps serving him great coffee, keeps his thoughts to himself.

And so it goes on, again. Tony orders coffee, Thomas makes coffee, they chat. The season ends, Tony comes in one last time to say goodbye. Thomas keeps his head down, keeps working. Serves Anglos on their summer vacations, serves the (sweating, now) suited businessmen, serves gaggles of teenage girls who order way too many frappés. (Not frappuccinos, it’s not Starbucks, they can’t call them that.) Thomas misses him, misses how it was easy and predictable with him. His other regulars are still nice, still chat with him, but it’s not really the same.

The season starts, Tony comes back. He’s bigger than he was at the end of the season, tanner, but he still orders the same thing. They talk like they were never apart. It’s easy. Tony starts coming in more often, not just after games, but on days off, on days when they only have practice. Starts telling Thomas when they’re going on road trips, as if Thomas doesn’t already have the Habs schedule secretly saved onto his phone. Thomas follows him on Instagram. So do 121,000 other people. Tony follows him back.

Tony follows him back. So do 246 other people. Thomas may never know how Tony noticed one new follower among thousands of others. Doesn’t let himself think too hard about it. Just smiles extra big at Tony the next night, is extra friendly, if that’s possible.

Tony’s Instagram is mostly professionally taken photos of himself, pictures from games and from advertising photoshoots. Things that Thomas wouldn’t be particularly interested in, except that this is _his_ Tony, the guy he sees every day or every other day, laughing at some stupid-ass joke. Thomas’ Instagram is mostly photos of latte art and fake-artsy hipster shots of Montreal, because he’s still not totally over the fact that he gets to live there. Tony likes all of his new photos, even the ugly selfie that Thomas posted in the middle of the night when he was wine-drunk with Megan.

In late November Thomas’ boss announces the annual Christmas party for employees and favorite customers. Last year Thomas had gone alone, hung out with some of his coworkers, stayed up too late, and had a great time. In the all-staff email, their boss encourages them to invite regulars they think would have a good time. Thomas doesn’t know if Tony has a game or practice or a road trip on that night, but he invites him anyway. He likes Tony. He likes talking to Tony, he would probably like drinking and dancing with Tony. It goes like this.

———

“Hi! Tony! We’re having our Holiday Party next week! You’re invited!” Thomas says, excited, as soon as he sees Anton come through the door.

Anton’s heart leaps and sinks. His first impulse is to grin widely, to accept without hesitation, to seize upon any opportunity to see Thomas outside the interaction of server and served. His second impulse is to think about what a colossally terrible idea it is for Anton Petrov, Habs top two defenseman, to attend a random party he knows nothing about. Lord only knows who’d be there, or what they’d say, to him, to Thomas, to each other. His third impulse is to say fuck it. If being “a hockey player” and “famous” means he can’t have friends, that’s stupid. He’s not doing that. He schools his expression into something mostly neutral but positive.

“Thanks dude, I’d love to come. When is it?” 

By some miracle of the Lord, the scheduling works out so that it’s on a night off, with a morning off the next day. So he goes. 

The shop is dark, only little sconce lights left on, and someone has brought in a couple of kegs of beer and a lot of wine. Lizzo is playing, and some people are dancing. Thomas is laughing with one of his coworkers when Anton comes in, and is quick to draw him into their conversation, get him a drink. 

Anton thought it might be awkward, talking to Thomas without the counter between them, but it’s surprisingly easy. Thomas is easy to talk to, to get along with, to laugh with. Easier still when they’re both a little tipsy. They end up at a corner table, squished together on one side so they can hear each other. Thomas lists into Anton’s side, and Anton, in spite of himself, brings his arm around him. It’s stupid, anyone could see, but in the moment, he’s not thinking like that. _They’re_ not like that. They might not even be friends! Let alone lovers. Anton doesn’t know if Thomas is into that. If he’s into that. He’s just caught up in the moment, and Thomas’ hair smells good, and Anton wants to be near him, so he is.

The holiday party is like a dam breaking. He wakes up the next morning with a text from an unknown number saying “Hi! It’s Thomas!” and just like that, they’re the kind of people who text each other. About little things, like what they had for dinner, or the ridiculous shit that happened in that game against the Sens, and about big things, like how Thomas has never dated anyone, and how Anton’s afraid he’ll always be in his father’s shadow. 

It’s funny, how a friendship happens. How one day you’re two people who know each other, and then one day you’re friends. You’re the first one each other thinks of when something funny happens, all “I can’t wait to tell Tony about this.” You don’t go a day without texting one another. You send each other links to things, just because “It made me think of you.”

That’s how it is for Anton, anyway. He didn’t remember _becoming_ , just that they weren’t and then suddenly they were. That suddenly he couldn’t imagine a world where Thomas didn’t wake up on his couch, where he didn’t fall asleep in Thomas’ bed to the sound of his roommates arguing late at night. 

Towards the beginning of the third season, Thomas’ lease is up. It’s not a surprise or a secret, he’s been worrying about it for a few weeks now. Isn’t sure he wants to stay with the same people, but also isn’t sure how he’d find anyone else. It seems like the easiest thing in the world to offer, “Well. You could always move in with me.”

His teammates tease him mercilessly, mostly good-naturedly, but he does it anyway. Thomas can’t pay half the rent, but he’s not worried about that. Takes the money because it makes Thomas happy, even though he hardly needs it. Shares the grocery bill, cooks half the meals. Stays up late to see Thomas after he gets off work, even when it means falling asleep on the couch and getting woken up at half past midnight.

It’s just so _easy._ Whatever else he is, they are, Thomas is easy. Offering him Moral Support after a hard shift is easy, even if Anton never thought it would be comfortable to be this close to another human being. 

———

It’s a little weird at first, coming into the kitchen in the morning and seeing Marc-freaking-Lapointe in your apartment. Knowing that no matter how much he gives Tony, it’s never anything close to the amount the apartment actually costs. Going to sleep in his giant new bed, knowing that his feelings for Tony go a little bit further than the normal roommate situation. 

But it’s also amazing. From the moment they met, Thomas has never been able to get enough with Tony. There’s always something else to talk about, to watch, to do together. Being roommates means all that time is just, like, so much more. And that’s great! Tony is great. His teammates are great, Thomas comes to understand. Living in an apartment with one other person, instead of four, is also great. 

The way it all happens, in the end, is just as good and easy as the rest of it has been. There are no big declarations of love, no fraught kisses or angry words. It happens slowly, honey pace, like everything else in their relationship. Mornings waking up in the same bed. Hugs that linger a little too long. Conversations where there are so many things left unspoken but not truly unsaid. Kisses, eventually, but never any grand-gesture moments, or uncomfortable crossings of boundaries. By the time it finally comes down to that, they’re both on the same page. 

And it’s so easy. It’s so easy for Thomas to press his lips against Anton’s. To stay close to him, to set his feet in Anton’s lap, to take him to work functions with clasped hands. It’s easy to talk about it, when the time comes.

Thomas doesn’t know the date of when they first met. It’s not particularly important. They have a lifetime of days together, any number of “anniversaries” to pick from. But every year when late summer comes around, when Montreal is at its hottest and most humid, he remembers blonde hair and a bitchy expression. Cutoff shorts that didn’t know what they were trying to say. He sees dozens of regulars every week. Can remember fifteen coffee orders off the top of his head. Most of them don’t end up like this. Most of them are easy, but in a different way. A way where he knows that all he’s going to have to say is “That’ll be $5.41” and smile, maybe after ask after some grandkids, and they’ll be on their way. 

Whether he knew it or not, it was different with Anton from the day they met. It could’ve been any other barista working that night. Any other coffeeshop. But it wasn’t, and from that little piece of luck, Thomas is grateful for everything that’s come after.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote 1000 words, a week before the deadline for this exchange. Then I deleted them all. This was written in basically a 3 hour period the night before/of the day it was due.
> 
> I wanted to think about how Thomas might be if he hadn’t grown up in the hockey world. Might he be more comfortable with his sexuality if he hadn’t been in locker rooms his whole life? But I also imagined him more cut off from that support system. Also I wanted to write a coffeeshop au that doesn’t suck! Hopefully I succeeded in communicating what I wanted to. And sonorousandloud, I hope this fits what you were hoping for! I hope it’s as fun to read as it was for me to write! 
> 
> Title from 45 Years by Stan Rogers, because that is The Song about soulmates.


End file.
